


The Interruption

by BlueAlmond



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 20:44:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18454298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueAlmond/pseuds/BlueAlmond
Summary: Mr. Wayne, the chemistry teacher, was almost some sort of legend in Gotham High, in that no one could really picture him outside of the classroom, having a normal life. His students mostly thought of him sitting behind a desk, solving intricate exercises, not going out to the movies or dinner with another person.But one sudden interruption during a class might change that forever.





	The Interruption

**Author's Note:**

> I just thought of this about an hour ago and couldn't get it out of my head. Enjoy!

Mr. Wayne, the chemistry teacher, was almost some sort of legend in Gotham High. It’s true that imagining most teachers outside of the classroom is weird, but Mr. Wayne took that to a whole new level, since he wasn’t the type of man one could just picture interacting with people that weren’t his students—not that he even interacted _that much_ with his students. His classes were mostly a monologue, and for the second half of them he always handed them guides of exercises then sat behind his desk, watching them work with impenetrable, unwavering and very intimidating eyes. It was a good thing that he was very good at giving instructions, because most of his students rarely dared to ask when they had doubts, even though he was, to everyone’s constant surprise, incredibly patient. Still, since he didn’t like interruptions either, he had perfected his lectures into being as clearest as they could be, and in all truth, his students rarely left the classroom with doubts or confusion. He was a good teacher. Scary, but his students learned, and that was all that mattered, right? The fact that he was so good at teaching, and yet so unapproachable as a person, made everyone sort of assume that that was all his life. No student of him ever dared to fantasize about what kind of things he did in his free time—most of them agreed that he simply sat at a desk, writing down formulas and preparing his Power Point presentations. Even the idea of him sleeping on a bed sounded ludicrous. Did he even close his eyes at all? He probably was one of those freaks that slept on his back.

The point remained that, even though he appeared to be a human being, no one really thought of him as a person. Not the kind of person that went out on dates or talked over dinner with sauce on their face or sang along to the radio on their car. He just wasn’t that kind of person.

Or so everyone thought. Everyone tacitly agreed on that, until one fateful Tuesday morning, over the fourth period in an otherwise inconsequential week of April.

Not fifteen minutes into the class, there was a knock on the door, and Mr. Wayne glared at it before crossing the distance. Everybody knew he hated interruptions, which was why everyone assumed he never gave classes on the first period, where late students were common. It was almost like an urban legend, how Principal Jones made sure to avoid him the annoyance or something like that, depending on the version that being out of fear or mere respect.

But the person outside the door didn’t look scared, even though they were interrupting one of Mr. Wayne’s classes. He just looked apologetic, but notoriously relaxed. “Hey Bruce, sorry, but do you have a marker? Mine stopped working.” It was Mr. Kent, the English teacher.

Mr. Wayne sighed heavily, looking both resigned and exasperated, but made his way to his desk and inspected his large pencil-case where he kept many markers, that always worked, of many different colors. He picked a blue one and a red one, and then simply had to turn in his feet, since Mr. Kent had entered the classroom and was standing next to him smiling broadly.

“There,” he said brusquely, “now please, don’t interrupt me again.”

Mr. Kent chuckled. “Sure thing, B, I’m sorry.” Very quickly, in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of move, he pressed a kiss to Mr. Wayne’s cheek, right there, in front of forty very impressionable high school sophomores. “Thanks, you’re a lifesaver! Bye kids.”

There was a weak ‘bye’ mumbled by some students, not many, since the majority of the teenagers were way too shocked to emit a sound.

Mr. Wayne cleared his throat to regain their attention, icy stare and plain expression in place as always, but even his reputation couldn’t be enough to contain a bunch of teenagers buzzling with gossip.

The first one to say something was, perhaps, suicidal, but he certainly inspired the rest to follow. It was Barry Allen who, leaning forward in his seat on the second row, all wide-eyed and impressed, yelled: “Mr. Wayne, are you and Mr. Kent dating?”

A torrent of muffled ‘ _no way_!’s and ‘ _it can’t be_!’s filled the room under Mr. Wayne’s impassive face, although, if one were to take a look very closely—which no one ever dared—could notice the slight twitch in one eyebrow. There were even some not so low ‘ _let men be affectionate without it meaning anything_ ’, and a ‘ _Mr. Kent was probably just messing around!_ ’. Students were suddenly fully invested in someone’s outside life that not five minutes ago they were all very certain didn’t even exist.

So then, Mr. Wayne took a deep breath and said: “Yes. We are. Now can we please go back to the class?”

“What? Since when?” asked Dinah, cellphone forgotten in the middle of what had been a very engaging text conversation.

Subtly, Victor at the back, kept recording everything with his.

Mr. Wayne frowned. “That is none of your business, Miss Lance.”

“Oh, come on, Mr. Wayne!”

“Yeah, you _can’t_ just say that!”

“When did it start?”

“Do you go out on dates?”

“Do you think you will get married?”

Many chuckles followed Iris’s last question, but all sound stopped abruptly when they noticed the teacher’s pursed lips, arms folded on top of his chest on a defensive stance he’d never taken before.

“I _can_ say that, as a matter of fact, I did. It is not a concern of yours to know what my plans for the future might be, and for God’s sake, Hal, of course we go out on dates. Everyone does that. Now please, start working on last week’s exercise guides, alright? I’ll be right back.”

The silence lasted until Mr. Wayne had exited the room. Then, even from outside, he could hear all of his students arguing loudly, all speaking at once and probably not over chemistry formulas. He sighed heavily and eyed the empty hallway, knowing that the third door to the right held the man responsible for the mess he was now dealing with, and pondered what he should do next. His class sounded like a lost cause, but he had already finished all the content that would be on the test. Objectively speaking, the timing _could’ve_ been worse. Also, he knew Clark had finished with it already, and the kids had begged him, in spite of getting behind on the program, to leave this class to review what they had learnt already and answer any remaining doubts.

He checked the time and made up his mind. Many didn’t know that, but he was not above pettiness. Clark, however, was not one of those who didn’t know. He had no excuse. And so, he barged into his classroom right after he heard him say: ‘ _Does that answer your question?_ ’

“Sorry, do you have a minute?”

Clark stared at him in shock for a moment, but a treacherous smile wanted to crawl into his face and it was obvious, to Bruce at least, that he was just as curious as his students to see what Bruce would do next.

“Uh, sure. I interrupted you earlier, so go ahead.”

Bruce nodded. “Could you go to the store on your way home? I’d like to make some risotto for dinner, but I believe we’re out of mushrooms.”

Clark grinned. “Sure babe. Text me if you feel like getting something else.”

“Cool.”

And just like that, he closed the door. He figured he would wait a moment before reentering his own classroom and took a moment to appreciate the commotion inside Clark’s. There, in the solitude of that empty hallway, he smirked. He was a private person by nature, sure, and he obviously appreciated that his students wouldn’t go around speculating on what he did on his free time, but them learning about his very serious relationship shouldn’t be a problem. He knew Clark mentioned his boyfriend casually from time to time, they just never knew it was Bruce he was talking about. And maybe it was time they learned. In the few seconds they had stared into each other’s eyes before Bruce handed him the two markers, he had given Clark all the consent he needed to take that step, and now Bruce was only reaffirming it.

Right before he opened the door to his classroom, he heard a distinct shriek that was followed by a ‘ _Oh my God, he just went to Mr. Kent’s classroom and asked him something about dinner. I think they live together guys. Oh my GOD!_ ’

His chest shook with silent laughter before he scolded his features into an unreadable face. He was enjoying this. That didn’t mean his students had to know it.

 


End file.
